40 Weeks
by twhorus
Summary: After an encounter at the bar, Rick and Michonne are thrust into the greatest twist of their lives: parenthood.
1. Before

Not for the first time since the night began, Shane followed Rick's line of sight, and assuredly they were fixed on the same woman, perched on a stool at the bar.

It was like clockwork. Every Saturday night they'd head out to the bar in search of reprieve from the drudgery of life, soothed by cheap liquor and music they'd never listen to voluntarily, and every week Rick glanced at the door until she breezed through it, a friend on her arm, laughter spilling out of her. He would stare, transfixed, interrupted by Shane's grousing.

"Just go talk to her." Shane said finally, with a huff of frustration.

Rick rubbed his jaw, feigning innocence as he picked up his beer. "I see nothin' wrong with enjoying the view."

Shane grimaced. "Real talk man, that's creepy as hell and you know it."

Rick barked out a laugh. His friend was the opposite, more inclined to chase the object of his affection rather than fixate on the beauty of it.

Shane said wrenching out a seat across from Rick. "If you wanna get out there again, ain't no problem with it. You and Sheila have been divorced for what about six months now."

The mention of his ex-wife, and subsequently, dead marriage, still made him wince, a twinge of hurt settling in with the beer in his stomach.

Shane shrugged, oblivious. As for as he was concerned, Rick had done enough crying over his ex-wife. "Go ahead and shoot a load. Always makes me feel better."

He and Sheila hadn't spoken in two months exactly. Pathetically enough, Rick kept count since their last conversation, stilted and distant. It was so strange, loving someone and then have that love break, and you return to being strangers no matter how intimate you were.

Rick's eyes wandered again, to the woman. They traveled the length of her calf, wrapped in black strappy stilettos that he wanted to unravel, traced their way to her profile. A few weeks back he'd asked Carol, who mined the bar, what her name was, and with a knowing smirk she'd told him it was Michonne. Ever since, he'd kept it to himself, not even divulging it to Shane for fear he'd go blabbing it out loud. From what he could tell so far Michonne was unmarried, no ring encircling her finger, and a busybody, from the number of times she whisked out her phone to text or have short, animated conversation. Her favorite drink was the maitai cocktail, but on occasion she'd take a shot.

Wow, I really am creepy.

As he watched, one of her friends got up out of her seat to leave. A rarity – Michonne almost never spent time at the bar alone. Spurred by the rare moment – or maybe his own self-revelation that yes, he could let himself have this – he got up. Behind him, Shane jeered. "Atta boy."

"Vodka and rum," he announced to Carol once he was there. "Please and thank you."

"Comin' right up."

Michonne threw a cursory glance at him. "maitai, huh?"

Rick's eyebrows shot up, that she'd posed the question to him without effort on his part. "Yeah," he said, willing his voice to smooth. "Not the strongest, but it hits the spot."

"I agree but," Michonne shrugged, the movement fluid and graceful. "I'm think you're biased."

Rick crooked an eyebrow; Carol set his drink before him. "How so?"

She smiled, turning so that she faced him fully, brown eyes full of mirth. "I think your preference of drink has more to do with me than you're letting on."

Rick balked, then reddened, flickering an accusatory glance at Carol.

"Oops," she smiled, tapping her lips. "Must've slipped."

Rick shook his head, while Michonne giggled and Carol conveniently left, laughing her ass off.

"That was…" Rick struggled for words. "I'm not – "

"It's fine," she said quickly, eyes dancing around his reddened face. "I thought it was hilarious. You thought I'd never notice you eyeballin' me?"

"Tried my damn hardest to be discreet, that's for sure."

"Carol was real sweet about it, trying not to paint you in a stalkerish light. Rick Grimes, is it?"

His name sounded ten times better in her voice, that for a second he didn't want anyone else say it ever again. He smiled at her. "That's right."

She propped her face on her upraised fist. "Good to know."

"I guess this is the part where I buy you a drink," he said, and then added. "Only if you'd like."

Michonne paused for a moment before answering. He was just like the men who frequented these bars: ruggedly handsome, charm that dripped out of their mouths like honey, their intent splayed across their faces like an open book, ripe for picking. But he didn't strike her as someone with ill intentions, or worse.

Then again, they'd only exchanged a few words.

"You can buy me any drink you like," she said. "As long as you're drinking with me."

What followed in that little spot at the bar was strange and profound. Two people, having drinks, speaking with their heads bent towards each other, totally engrossed in the other person. Shane passed him with a clap to his back, which Rick only barely acknowledged.

"Crime scene investigator," Michonne raised a delicate brow, impressed. "Like on CSI?"

"Not half as exciting."

"I relate. Everyone thinks being a lawyer is some _Law and Order_ stuff, when really it's loads and loads of paperwork." She smiled faintly. "But I love my job. I'm practically married to it."

"You ever been married?"

She shook her head. "It's never interested me."

"Why?"

She exhaled. "The whole institution of marriage just baffles me. Most of it is just one long road block to the eventual messy divorce. I don't want any part of that."

"Not even for love?"

She snorted. "What's love in the face of marriage? It's nice to daydream about but…" She shrugged, face drawn. "I know plenty of divorced couples, from the time of signing papers for marriage to signing papers of divorce. It's all the same story."

He looked to his ring finger, where the band no longer perched, soaking in her words. Michonne followed his line of sight, deflating. "Are you married?"

Rick pulled his hand back. "No. Divorced."

"Oh," she exhaled a little, and he noticed. "That's – I –I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it," he tapped her knee. "It was a while ago."

"Good, because I'd hate to think I was flirting with a married man."

He squinted at her. "Does this mean what I think it means?"

She reached around him and took his drink, giving him the go-ahead while she took a long sip.

"You like me?"

She plunked his drink down, running her tongue over her bottom lip. "I like a lot of people, what makes you think you're special?"

She was teasing him, a playful smile dancing on her lips.

"You never talk to any of the guys who come here."

"To your benefit."

"And," he smiled sheepishly. "You've glanced at my lips bout' seven times tonight, two times within a ten minute time frame."

She blushed, mentally kicking herself as she glanced at those same lips again. "Aren't you observant? Crime detective, huh?"

"Observant enough to know you want to kiss me. And maybe do other things. But what do I know," he shrugged. "I'm just a crime detective at a bar."

She laughed, leaning in. He met her halfway, their lips crashing together, followed quickly by their tongues. It was the sort of kiss that began hungrily, and slowed down only for them to explore, to savor the taste of one another. Rick felt his whole body tingle; his hand found their way around the waist band of her skirt.

They were pulled apart by a loud bang, Carol collecting their half-empty glasses and smirking at them. "No fucking at the bar, sorry."

Rick and Michonne straightened themselves out, suddenly aware there were still people here, openly gawking at them. Michonne cleared her throat, checking the time on her phone. "It's twelve in the morning." The words came out as mere observation.

"I've never been less tired than I am now."

Michonne nodded. "Your place? One of my friends are crashing and I don't want her to hear if we get…loud."

Rick nodded, beginning to stand. He felt every nerve, every prickle of excitement. The woman of his dreams, and he was taking her home in the span of a few hours.

They spoke little on their way there, the silence punctuated by so much tension, Michonne had the urge to straddle his lap or pull down his pants to see what he was working with nearly every second their conversation stopped. Rick felt increasingly annoyed with their Uber driver, Frank, who was one of those people who insisted on conversation with his passengers.

"There's water back there, chargers if you need them! Is everything ok?"

Rick paid him no mind, his hand making a slow ascent up Michonne's leg. She burrowed her head in his shoulder, stifling a laugh.

"We're fine." Rick mumbled, trailing kisses down her jaw.

Frank cleared his throat. "You two are certainly…active this time of night."

"Is it making you uncomfortable?"

Michonne kicked his shin; Rick winked at her.

"No, no! Go ahead, do your thing." Translation: Whatever gets me five stars.

They stumbled through Rick's door, still laughing. "He gets five stars. It's only fair."

Michonne darted her eyes around his condo. Modern, a little sparse, definitely fit for the bachelor look Rick was probably going for. "I would've kicked us out."

"Make yourself comfortable." Rick said, motioning to the wide living room.

Instead, she went over to the piano, smiling as she pressed a key. "You play?"

He came back into the room, handing her a bottle of water. "A little bit. Don't think I'm any good."

He had such nice hands. She could imagine them treading gracefully on each key.

She shook her head, a little somberly. "I've always wanted to learn."

"I can teach you." He was eyeing the wistful way she looked at the piano.

Michonne paused on a key, considering. That implied they'd be seeing each other again after this.

So she switched the conversation, picking up a photo of him between two green eyed girls, one brunette and the other blonde. "Sisters?"

"Half-sisters – different fathers, but they hate when I say we're half-siblings." He smiled fondly at the photo. "Mags and Beth."

There was another, of Maggie sidled up with another man. Glenn, Maggie, and his nephew Hershel Jr. There was one of Shane, and a guy named Morgan, and Shane and his wife Lori. Michonne found it so adorable how animated Rick got when he spoke about the people he loved.

She noticed, but didn't mention, there were no pictures of his ex-wife.

He toured her around every room in his house, which wasn't much, but considering the grandeur of the entire place, felt like it. When at last they reached his bedroom, Michonne felt those familiar tugs of nerves on her stomach. "This bed is really…neat. I almost hate to mess it up."

Rick began undoing his watch, chuckling. "'Almost.'"

Michonne studies him, perching on the edge of his bed to unwind the straps on her heels. "How often do you do this?"

"Sleep with someone I actually like?"

She smiled. The first shoe off, the watch off. "Yes."

Rick swallowed as he watched her undo the buttons on her blouse, fumbling on his own. Michonne laid her shirt on the chair sidled next to the bed, and promptly walked over to him. Rick traced the curve of her breasts, the abs on her stomach.

"I don't do this often." She said, a bit timidly.

"That's fine," he tilted her chin up. "Just follow my lead."

She kissed like she knew what she was doing, taking the lead herself, just fine. Again, their kisses grew fervent, and they fell back on the bed, at the leisure to make as much noise as they wanted. With Michonne on top of him, Rick unclasped her bra with one hand while he worked her skirt with the other, speaking in-between kisses. "I don't – want you – to think – this is all I wanted."

Michonne slinked down, tugging his pants. "What?"

"I mean that I like you," he was panting slightly, trying to catch his eyes. "More than I think I should."

Michonne didn't want to tell him that she felt the same way, but no matter the sentiment, they were two people who barely knew each other, who felt an attraction strong enough to warrant a one night stand. Nothing more, nothing less.

So she didn't answer, just kissed him good enough to make him forget anything but her body on his, their bodies together, and this one splendid night that would never see them again.

* * *

She woke up sore, with a headache pounding the side of her head. Rick snored next to her, his face mushed into the pillows, hair mussed. They'd had quite the night, and lucky for the bed, they'd switched locations, alternating between the floor, Rick's dresser, his bathroom counter, his shower, _and_ his bathtub. (To Michonne's delight, he had both).

Quietly, she dressed, padding into the living room with her phone balanced in her hand and shoes in the other, jumping when she saw a figure standing in the middle of the living room. "Oh!"

The woman jumped too, on the verge of putting a potato chip in her mouth. She was short and square, wearing a maid's uniform and a name tag.

"I'm sorry," Michonne breathed. "I didn't see you there. Are you the maid?"

"Are you Mr. Grimes new girlfriend? I swear this is the first time I've eaten his chips."

Michonne smiled sourly. "It's fine. I'm just," she pointed to the door. "Heading out."

She nodded dutifully. "Would you like me to leave a message with Rick?"

That gave her pause. "Tell him…tell him I said it was good. It was nice, being with him."

It felt strange; she should've been the one to tell him directly, but she figured it was better this way. In five weeks, they'd be over whatever they felt had happened.


	2. 4 Weeks, Five Days

"…for the deposition. Michonne?"

"Right," Michonne straightened in her seat, clearing her throat. "The deposition. Tomorrow."

Jacqui nodded with exaggerated slowness. "Do you want to carpool?"

"Of course."

Jacqui narrowed her eyes. "You ok?"

Michonne bit her lip, fiddling with the end of her straw. The restaurant they frequented was unusually busy that day, and the mingling of various aromas more pronounced than usual. And not in a good way. "I don't feel too good."

A waiter flitted past their table, balancing several plates of what smelled like a fish stew. Her stomach surged, but she gave Jacqui a perfunctory smile as she slid out of the booth. "I'll be back."

Once she'd locked the stall, she dove for the toilet boil, nearly missing by an inch. Michonne retched, heaving the contents of most of most of her breakfast and lunch. The stall grew fetid, and under her nausea, cramped. When it was all over, when she was sure she had nothing left to give, she slumped back against the stall wall, her breath coming in snatches.

Four weeks. It'd been four weeks and some days since she'd had sex with Rick, but the remnants of flimsy biology did good to remind her it was when the telltale signs of pregnancy made themselves known.

And then there was the lack of a period, which spoke for itself.

She strained for her memory. They'd gone through at least four condoms that night, and it was possible that one of them tore, but she hadn't been focused on that _at all_.

But there were no alternatives, nothing to deny it with. She'd always been acutely aware of her body, fine-tuned to its needs and ailments, and this was no different. She was most definitely pregnant.

She heaved up, flushed the toilet with her foot, and exited the stall, fishing for the small bottle of Listerine she kept in her purse. Gurgle. Spit. Figure out where the hell she went from here.

* * *

"So we out tonight? There's this new place I wanna try out."

Rick scribble out his paper work in rote fashion. "Really? Cause' the stripper from last time throwin' up on you wasn't enough of a rush? Lori know about that, by the way?"

Shane let out a peal of laughter. "Good one. But you and I know damn well that stripper just happened to pass by and hurl her guts on me, nothin' else. You goin' or not?"

Rick smirked. "Maybe. I'll see how much work is – "

"Mr. Grimes?"

Rick loosed a weary sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "See what I mean?"

"Mr. Grimes," the assistant said, more forceful this time. "There's someone here to see you."

Both he and Shane turned. The assistant withered under both their gazes. "She, uh, says it's an emergency."

"She?" Shane whistled. "Who is she?"

"Says her name is Michonne."

The name had kind of a visceral reaction on Rick, inwardly, and he remembered it warmly. He'd said it several times that night, in various degrees of fervency. Hearing it now sent a blush warming up his neck. "Send her to my office."

The assistant nodded, and scurried off to do what was told. Meanwhile, Shane clapped him on the back, guffawing. "Looks like she came back for seconds."

Rick furrowed his brows, though he couldn't wipe the smug smile on his own face. "Doubt it."

"Nah, man. She wants Part Two: Office Rendezvous."

"You been readin' Lori's romance books? I mean I won't fault you, they're pretty good."

"Shut up, man."

Rick found himself increasingly nervous with each step he took to his office. Was everything in its right place in there? Did it smell good? He couldn't remember if he'd left haphazard papers strewn on his desk. If she sat, would the seats be comfortable?

And him, was he alright looking? Seeing as how there were no mirrors around, he had to go by what little of himself he'd seen that day. He did what he could; adjusted his collar, ran his fingers through his hair and even – though he felt ridiculous – unloosed a button on his shirt.

He found her standing a few feet away from his desk, observing the pictures he kept on the far wall. She had that same look of curiosity as the night after the bar. She hadn't noticed him, so he tapped his hand against the open doorway. "Hello?"

Michonne tore her eyes from the pictures, an smile curling her mouth. "Rick."

He still loved the way she said his name, which again bought him back to that night. He shook his head, dispelling the flurry of images that came with the thought. "You're here. At my job."

She smoothed her clammy hands over her skirt. "Sorry about that but, I don't have your number."

He ambled to his desk. "You never asked for it."

She nodded slowly, trailing him as he walked to his desk. "Well I had to ask around and it led me here."

"They don't usually let people into my office," he squinted at her, seizing the opportunity to drag his eyes down her body to see what he'd been missing all these weeks. "You got some kind of pull here?"

Michonne smiled at that fact that he'd noticed, despite herself. Despite the gravity of why she was actually there. "I do, but I promise I'm not exploiting it."

Rick opened his mini fridge. "You want somethin' to drink? There's water, sprite, I think I got a cooler – "

"I'm pregnant."

Rick paused. "Water it is."

He faced her again, understanding hardening his gaze. Why she was here. The tension. "Pregnant."

"Pregnant." She echoed, worrying her lower lip.

Rick dropped down into his chair, dazed. "We used condoms."

She smiled sadly. "Wasn't enough, apparently."

He looked at her again, reassessing the bags under her eyes, the traces of tiredness in her posture. "Are you ok?"

"I'm…still processing."

Pregnant. Months ago he would have loved to hear that word, but expected it from different lips. "Are you sure?"

"I am. I used one of those advanced pregnancy tests. You know, the ones that tell you how far along you are?"

He pressed his knuckles to his mouth, blue eyes begging a silent question.

"Four weeks and five days."

"Damn," Rick exhaled. "So early."

Michonne nodded. "Gives me more time to act. My schedule is super tight, but I can squeeze in an appointment on Wednesday."

Rick's whole face transformed within a span of five seconds, from alight with surprise to mired in confusion. "Appointment? For an abortion?"

Michonne crossed her arms over her chest. "Don't tell me you're actually expecting me to go through with this."

Rick blinked, feeling like he'd had something snatched right from under him.

"Oh, my God," Michonne's mouth rounded in surprise. "You don't want an abortion?"

A muscle feathered in his jaw. "You do."

Michonne scoffed, shaking her head. "I never planned on this."

"Neither did I," Rick stood up from his chair and glided to where she was. He wanted to reach out. To touch her? Offer some form of tactile support? Touching was what got them into this. "But an abortion?"

"Well what else is there," she snapped. "Rick, we don't have the means to raise a child. I barely know you, for Christ's sake."

"People have children by strangers all the time," he countered. "And I'm willing to raise a kid just fine. We're both competent, capable adults."

" _Even so_. Raising a child? Do you realize the amount of effort that comes with? All the responsibility, effort, time, money?"

"Which we can work out. It's not hopeless."

She was still avoiding his face, looking frantically between the slats in his blinds, as if everyone out there were susceptible to hearing them. It occurred to him how young she really looked – thirty to his forty two. But in that moment, he felt it, her vulnerability. How afraid she really was, and how much she wanted to mask that from him.

"If you want to go through with that," he said, softening his voice. "If you knew you didn't want this, why come here at all? You said it yourself, I'm a stranger. Does it matter if I know either way?"

She swallowed, sliding her gaze to him. "I thought you'd want to know. If it were me I'd…want to know."

"I appreciate that."

"And if I'm being honest" she dropped her eyes, "if I do go through with this, I don't want to be alone. For any of it."

"You won't be," he promised. "Whatever you decide to do, even if it's…not what I want. I'll be there as long as you need me to."

She nodded tentatively, but she was grateful. He knew.

They stared at each several beats longer than they needed to, and she wondered if he'd thought back to that night as often as she did, sometimes at the most inopportune moments. It seemed fitting that all of it would spiral into this.

Perhaps imperceptibly, his eyes slid to her lips.

The ringing of Michonne's phone jolted them out of the moment. She apologized, rummaging around her purse till' she pulled it out and slid her thumb over the screen. "Hello?"

On the other line, TJ made a sound of exasperation. "This is gonna sound wild, but you forgot to pick me up."

Michonne cursed under her breath. This whole thing had completely thrust her off her schedule. "Stay put. I'll be right there."

She hung up before her brother could make some smart ass retort on her tardiness, smiling apologetically at Rick. "I have to go. But I'll call you as soon as possible. What time is good?" She was backing out of the door, snatching one of the cards he kept by them.

"Any time is good," he said. "Be careful."

But she'd already gone. Rick collapsed into his chair, raking his fingers through his hair.

Pregnant.

Whenever he and Sheila would try, the word was an unspoken hope between them. Sex was never just sex. Everything was strategic, even their foreplay. Positions she'd read about to maximize conception. It reached a point where she didn't even care if she came or not. As long as he did, they'd done a good job.

And after that they'd lie there, catching up with their breaths. Sometimes he was hopeful, and they'd joke and he'd try to get her off. Other times they were so scared, they were reluctant to exchange words, as if it would somehow render her even more infertile. Other times she was tight-lipped and barely spoke. Those were the latter days, when things began to fall apart faster than they could keep up with.

When they'd return from an unsuccessful IVF meeting, and he could hear her sobbing in the bathroom. How wistfully she'd look on whenever Maggie bought Hershel Jr. over, and he'd meet Sheila's eyes, and the light in them would dim.

The closest he'd ever felt to her was one night while they lay in bed, pretending to sleep. She rolled over and said, very precisely, "I want to have a baby with you, but I don't think I was meant to."

He wanted to reach out, to tell her that he felt the same way. But he was only heavy and hollow. All the trying – it had taken something from him, from them.

The next day she'd served him divorce papers with his coffee.

But with Michonne, it'd been different. Playful, despite the simmering intensity between them. For the first time since he'd had sex with someone, he wasn't thinking of whether he was doing anything right and wrong. He wasn't scared of what would happen after. He just…was. And it'd been good, every moment of it.

It'd led him to this. And he wasn't quite sure what to make of that.

* * *

Of course TJ dragged himself to the car, making an entire show out of walking like the extra specimen he was, and therefore making them later than they already were.

She dialed the volume down as he entered and shut the car door without so much of a greeting, or a glance in her direction.

"Hi, Michonne," she said pointedly, putting the car back into drive. "How was your day, Michonne. Oh, it was fine, Teej. Thanks for asking. How was yours?"

TJ scowled, resting his head on the window. "You're fifteen minutes late."

"That why you mean muggin' me?" She twisted her face into the same grimace.

The corner of his mouth perked, so she guessed she was somewhat off the hook. "No one says mean muggin' anymore."

"Oh, my bad. Side eye."

He glared. "Stop trying to deflect from your lateness. Where were you anyways?"

"Had a thing at the job," she lied smoothly. "It was urgent."

"More urgent than seeing Mom."

That sobered the air.

"TJ – "

"Look, I know you don't want to see her, and you're only doing this to be there for me or whatever. But it's important to me, ok? It's still Mom, Chonne."

"Don't you think I know that? And what makes you think I don't want to see her as much as you do?"

TJ rolled his eyes. "You don't want to see any of us."

Her heart turned. "That's not true. You know that, Teej."

"Uncle Kirk says he calls you all the time and it always goes to voicemail. Plus we all know. 'Michonne's always working. Michonne's too scared to be a part of the family again'."

"That's not…" But it was. A tear slid down her cheek, and she swiped it away before he could see.

"Yeah, keep tellin' yourself that."

They both fell silent. His words cut more than they normally would have, but she blamed that on hormones. No use arguing with an incensed TJ. Debating with a brick wall would yield better results.

As soon as they were there, TJ shot out of the car, knowing damn well he couldn't do anything without Michonne. She took her time, mustering as much strength in as little time as she could for what she was about to go through.

The home was the best Michonne could find. She'd pored over every institution until she'd found the right one for her Mom, and even then, it wasn't enough. She still remembered her mother railing against her when they came to take her – she carried the scars on her arm. Other scars, some invisible, lingered too.

TJ was buzzing on the balls of his feet, a stark contrast to his older sister, taking stilted steps to the counter. Jenny smiled warmly at them. "Hello, TJ. Michonne. She's ready for you."

Michonne didn't want TJ to get his hopes up, which was exactly what he did.

But she wouldn't extinguish that light for anything, no matter how misplaced it was.

Jenny led them into a large room, where people sat around speaking to their loved ones in hushed, soothing tones. All of that was lost on Michonne as she searched for her mother's face and found her, staring blankly at her clasped hands.

Michonne took cautious steps, TJ a few behind her. They sat on chairs opposite her. She didn't look up until Michonne loudly cleared her throat.

Michonne tucked a loc behind her ear. "Mary?"

It still felt so strange speaking to her mother on a first name basis after so many years of being scolded not to, but saying Mom would confuse and ultimately scare her.

Her mother looked up, her face taking on a dreamy quality. "I have visitors."

"Yes," TJ said carefully. "We came here to see you."

"That's lovely," she pressed a withered hand to her chest. "I never get visitors."

Michonne's throat tightened. God help her if she burst into tears right at that moment. "How are you?"

"Oh, I am doing quite well, thank you for asking."

TJ perked. "What'd you do today Mo-Mary?"

Her brows, bushy and streaked with gray, pulled together in thought. "I woke up. Did some light stretching. For breakfast I had porridge – or was it eggs?"

Whatever little bit of hope Michonne had instantly deflated.

Her mother began muttering, ceaselessly. "Porridge or eggs. Porridge or eggs."

"I-It's ok," TJ placated his hands. "You don't have to know."

"But I know!" She squeezed her eyes shut. "I know it was either porridge or eggs! I know that."

"It's ok," Michonne willed her voice to smoothness, despite the mounting panic bubbling up her throat. "Mary, it's all right. You might've had both."

"No!" She stood up from the couch. "I know I can remember." She paced the floor, muttering still. If TJ and Michonne were to quietly slip off, she wouldn't even notice.

TJ stormed off, brushing past everyone in a flurry of anger. Futilely, Michonne called after him. She glanced at the clock. They'd lasted all of five minutes.

"I assume it didn't go well?" Jenny asked.

Michonne sighed. "I'm sorry. It's difficult."

"I understand, especially for someone as young as TJ. Would you like to schedule another?"

Michonne glanced at the door. TJ leaned against the passenger door of her car, his face unreadable. "For now, no. But I'll let you know if we change our mind."

"You were right," he said when she reached the car. "There's no point."

"You need to stop looking for a point, Teej. She has Alzheimer's. What exactly did you expect to happen in there?"

He kicked the asphalt, lips pressed into a thin line.

"Whatever it is, you can't blame her. You can't blame me. And you can't blame yourself. Get in the car."

She let him stew in his silence, pulling into the Subway drive-thru even when he refused. She heard his stomach grumble. Eventually, he pulled the sub out of the bag and chewed, angling his whole body away from her.

Uncle Kirk's porch was empty. For a moment, Michonne thought she should go inside and greet everyone. But then she remembered Aunt Kristy possessed a sixth sense for pregnancy, and she didn't need the excess heckling.

"Love you."

TJ smiled flatly before shutting the door. Michonne waited until he was inside to speed off.

On the way home, she received a call.

"Hello, this is from the Doctor Roswell's clinic. You called earlier and we just wanted to confirm – do you still want to go ahead with that appointment?"


End file.
